Kiss & Hell (Hell #1)

He smiled, clearly pleased by her assessment. “Actually, it was Body by Chuck Norris and I jogged. No workout buddies.”


Te-rrific. He had to be the most isolated person she’d ever met. Aside from maybe her and she at least had a friend. Maybe it was only one, but one was more than none. “Oh, wait, I know! What about the freelance work you did? Couldn’t we call one of the companies you did work for and see if they know what happened?”

“Now there’s an idea . . .” Clyde’s posture changed from slumped in defeat to upright and ready to attack.

She reached for her cell phone. “Number?”

He slumped again. “Shit. I can’t remember it.”

“Name of the company?”

His face was completely blank.

“Clyde?”

Shock was an absolute in Clyde’s expression. “I can’t remember. Holy shit. I can’t remember.”

Convenient? Maybe. “You do realize how suspicious this looks, don’t you? You have no friends back home. There’s no obituary for you—no police reports. Tia’s number is disconnected and you can’t remember the company you were freelancing for. Crazy that.” Her response to his sudden blank spot was dry with sarcasm.

His fingers flitted across his temple as though he were searching for his memory. “I swear to you, Delaney, I don’t know why I can’t remember—I just can’t.”

“But you had no trouble remembering tons of other stuff about what your life was like, where all this work that blew you up took place, where your lab was . . .”

“I hear the suspicious tone in your voice, Delaney, and I’m not liking it. I can’t remember, and I’m not lying. Don’t go there.”

God, even if he was lying—it was hot when he did. Extra hot because Clyde didn’t strike her as the kind of guy who liked to throw down unless he had to. Conviction suited him—but he’d remembered plenty about his life before today, and that bothered her. “Well, where the fuck am I supposed to go, Clyde? You knew plenty of details a few days ago, and now you expect me to believe you can’t remember who you were doing work for?”

His blue eyes narrowed to slits. “Yeah, I do.”

“Why’s that? Because you got in my drawers?” Oh. Low, Delaney. Way. Even as the words slipped from her fresh mouth, she knew it was low. And so uncalled for. Weariness and frustration were always an ugly combo for her.

Clearly Clyde was preparing his windup, but they were interrupted by the tinkle of the chimes on the door of the store.

“Meees Delaney! I am here. Ju are better, jes?”

Crap on a stick.

Clyde looked at her with a question.

“Mrs. Ramirez—short, chubby Puerto Rican lady, remember?” she whispered, jumping up from the chair. “She helps me in the store. I’ve got to get rid of her before—”

“There ju are! Oh, Mees Delaney—” Mrs. Ramirez’s words stopped short when she came around the corner. The dogs jumped at her ankles, but she paid no mind. Her mouth fell open in the shape of a perfect O.

Clyde rose from his chair, sticking his hand out to her. “Clyde Atwell. Pleasure.” He grinned all pearly white and gentlemanly.

Wherein, the romantic in Mrs. Ramirez appropriately melted. That perfect O her lips had created turned into a grin that spanned her entire face. Her head bobbed with understanding, her heavy floral perfume wafting to Delaney’s nose. She nudged Delaney with a secretive glance. “Now I know why ju are seeck. Ju are loveseeck. Ees soooo nice.” She nodded her approval while her eyes roamed the length of Clyde.

Hoo boy. She had some splainin’ to do. “No, Mrs. Ramirez—this isn’t what you think—”

“Ju no be chy, Delaney. Ees won’erful!” She clapped her hands together with a girlish giggle of pure delight.

“Chy?” Clyde asked.

“Shy,” Delaney translated. “Just hush,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.

Mrs. Ramirez made a circle around Clyde’s body, lingering momentarily on his backend. “Ees about ti’, too, jung ladee. Ju is always talkeeng to de dead persons dat nobody see but ju. Thass no good for de soul. Ju is alone too much. Now ju ees not alone. Ees soooo good!”

Delaney bit her tongue before saying, “No, Mrs. Ramirez, this isn’t what you think. Clyde’s just a friend and someone has to talk to the dead persons. That’s my job.”

Mrs. Ramirez clucked her tongue. “Ju make de persons up because ju are lonleey. Ees okay. I un’erstan’. An’ I don’ know no frien’ who looks at his other frien’ like dat. Ees okay. I no tell nobody.”